


My soul has gone flying south for winter

by aria_dc_al_fine



Category: Cardcaptor Sakura, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 09:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13715103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aria_dc_al_fine/pseuds/aria_dc_al_fine
Summary: When Minerva McGonagall was faced with the dilemma of postponing the re-opening of Hogwarts for a year to complete the restoration of the Castle, or seeking assistance from other Wizarding Schools, she chose the latter. That was how Harry and his fellow eighth and seventh years found themselves taking classes at Mahoutokoro, where Malfoy’s intended - the heir of Hong Kong's millennium-old pureblooded Li Clan, Li Syaoran - was apparently studying. While Harry tried to wrap his head around unwanted attractions to a certain pale, pointy and not-available blond, dark forces seemed to have been at works. Could Harry survive the forces that may kill him a third time?A/N: The Draco/Syaoran is temporary and ultimately unreal.





	My soul has gone flying south for winter

**Author's Note:**

> The title is inspired by Amazing_E_ko's fanfiction of 'Otoyomegatari' / The Bride's Stories, and Rowling's comment on Mahoutokoro's younger students being commuted home on giant storm petrels.
> 
> The story takes place almost entirely in Harry Potter's universe. I borrowed characters from anime with themes of magic to fill in the roles of Mahoutokoro's students, rather than create my own OCs.
> 
> The story started because: I was bored, I have some time off work due to Chinese New Year holiday (a horrible holiday to take vacation because flight tickets everywhere are expensive as hell, and locally most shops are closed. There is nothing to do but sleep and read fanfiction and watch dramas, because cleaning up is considered unlucky), and upon reading JK Rowling's write up of Draco Malfoy in Pottermore, I can't help thinking that he and Syaoran Li from Cardcaptor Sakura had the same beginnings. Syaoran Li was also an arrogant bratty kid with a somewhat villainous role, but he ended up as a protagonist and the main character's love interest, while Draco...did not. I also want to try to integrate my understanding of Japanese mythologies and folklore amassed from watching tonnes of anime in 2008-2017 with Harry Potter. (Yes, I was very much into HP in 2003-2007, up until DH was released. I did not like DH. Not only for the epilogue, but the fact that they tried to cram so much - 7 Horcrux and 3 Deathly Hallows, not to mention the sheer amounts of coincidences - so I switched to Hetalia. Hetalia was such a glorious fandom for those interested in history.)
> 
> Critiques welcome, but please don't be too harsh.
> 
> Yes, I am a fandom oldie... try guessing my age.

“We’ll what?” Harry blinked.

“I know, isn’t it wonderful?” Hermione replied absently as she flitted across her room, rummaging through piles of books and clothes to choose what to pack into her trunk. “I’ve read that other wizarding schools exist, of course, but never have thought I’d get to spend a term there! Nobody has ever said anything about an exchange programme, even during the triwizard tournament. I have been curious enough to contemplate visiting, but, oh,” she suddenly stopped with a sigh. “This is such a pleasant surprise.”

Harry blinked again. “I don’t know, Hermione,” he stared at his hands unseeingly. “I kinda want to spend one last year in Hogwarts. Ride on Hogwarts Express one final time, lounge around the Great Lake and catch a glimpse of a tentacle of the Giant Squid, feast in the Great Hall…. Going to this…this Maha-

“Mahoutokoro,” Hermione corrected reflexively as she squinted at two robes in her hands, murmuring, “What’s the climate like in Minami Iwo Jima?”

“That place,” Harry shrugged “is a disincentive for me to return to finish my schooling, really.” He pursed his lips and bowed his head.

“Oh, Harry…” the green-eyed boy didn’t need to look up to know what kind of expression his best friend of seven years was sporting. Slender arms wrapped around his shoulder, and soon enough his face was buried in locks of bushy brown hair. “The people will still be the same… isn’t it a good way to gradually move on?”

Harry’s throat felt swollen, choked with unspeakable emotions. “No, they won’t be, ‘Mione,” he whispered hoarsely as his fingers found their way to her hand.

He didn’t need to say that too many people have died for it to be the same.

* * *

_“How utterly humiliating!” the old man threw his cup across the room, the pottery breaking upon impact on the wall, splattering hot green tea all over white paint. “Not only do we have to accept their occupation with open arms, we have to remain defenceless! Not allowed a military, what rubbish!”_

_The long-haired woman continued to sit quietly, only waving a hand. The porcelain shards flew to the table and rearranged themselves to a wholesome cup again._

_The old man turned sharply to her, as though he just remembered she was in the room with him. “Shiroharu-sama,” there was a mad glint in his eyes._

_He didn’t have to continue. She flinched, although her face remained impassive. “I’m afraid I have to refuse.”_

_“Why!?” The enraged man rose to his feet. “I heard that alien government doesn’t have any contact with their country’s magical folks at all! Nobody will know!” he slammed his fist on the table._

_The slightest unease crept into her countenance. “Your Excellency-”_

_“You’re supposed to protect us!” He swung his arm in a wide gesture. “We’re your ‘ujiko’, your wards!”_

_She pressed her lips to white, thin lines._

_“Are you going to abandon us now!?” His face turned red, “While we’ve never abandoned you!?”_

_“I understand,” her voice was reedy, spoken though tense jaws and gritted teeth. The fists hidden in the folds of her robes were clenched tightly. “We’ll work something out.”_

_He sighed in relief._

_She lowered her head, like the weight of the world had just been heaped onto her shoulders._

_It was a promise she would regret._

* * *

To Harry’s relief, he did get to board the Hogwarts Express and feast at the Great Hall again.

Although, it was clear from the moment he stepped down from the carriage and gave the Thestral which pulled his carriage a pat on his snout, why McGonagall arranged to have them board and attend lessons at Mahoutokoro for a while. The restoration of Hogwarts was far from complete. Towers and whole chunks of the Castle still remained in various state of disrepair, utterly inhabitable. Even from this far away, Harry could sense some kind of…wrongness. Dark magic and hatred and remnants of whatever energy leaked out of curses having seeped into the ground. What McGonagall had achieved over the summer was already amazing.

The moment the Sorting Hat was taken off the last first-year student’s head, Professor McGonagall rose to her feet and cleared her throat. “To new, and not-so-new students of Hogwarts, welcome, and welcome back,” she smiled, the curve of her lips heartfelt despite the tired lines of her gaunt face. “It warms me so much to see you here. Just a few months ago this hall had seen a terrible battle, but we shall not be trapped in the past. Let us move on, forgive even if we cannot forget, because what’s worse is to let the cycle of hatred spark another tragedy. To my dearest Slytherins,” the old witch directed her gaze to the table which had been the most subdued during the Welcome Ceremony, her blue eyes wise and painfully similar to Dumbledore’s. “I thank you all for coming back.”

Indeed, the Slytherin table had almost halved in population, with the newly sorted first-years and the lower years making up the majority. They huddled at the end close to the door, and upon hearing McGonagall address them, seemed to impossibly cling to each other even closer.

A lone figure sat apart from the cluster, pale blonde head glinting under the light of the floating candles.

Malfoy was the only ‘eighth-year’ to return to Hogwarts. Harry heard that it was a term of his probation. It was either this, or house arrest, which his fellow former Death Eater Gregory Goyle had chosen. Malfoy was not to leave the school boundary, ever, until he took his NEWTs.

Harry stared at the taller boy, the way the little fires cast shadows on his sallow face, until Malfoy appeared to have noticed Harry’s stare, and turned toward Harry. Grey met green for the shortest fraction of a second before Malfoy threw his gaze to the floor.

A part of Harry felt pleased that Malfoy finally learned his place and lost his arrogance, but at the same time, Harry just felt tired. They were all just boys, caught in the adults’ war. Malfoy seemed to have suffered enough, detained in Azkaban throughout summer before his trials were finalised. Many might have resented that the Malfoys escaped sentences in Azkaban, and Lucius was cowardly for trading his freedom with that of his former comrades, but by doing so the man had made enough enemies to watch his back his entire life. It was a punishment in itself.

McGonagall did not show her dismay at the Slytherin’s reaction. She moved on to the next announcement. “As you have been informed, Mahoutokoro School of Magic has offered to shelter our seventh to eighth years while the Castle is being restored. As they have also offered to assist us in the restoration, we are hoping it won’t take longer than a few months. Meanwhile, an interim Head Boy and Head Girl will be selected from the sixth years. To seventh and eighth years, please gather in the Entrance Hall at 10pm. That is all.”

“That’s after curfew,” Hermione frowned as the Headmistress stepped down from the podium. Her face changed soon after, though. “Must be because of the time difference.”

Dean and Neville stared as Seamus cut a huge portion of Shepherd pie for himself. “Leave some for us, mate!” 

“No can do,” the Irish managed before shoving a large spoonful to his mouth, “you know, I heard they eat food raw there. Raw fish, raw horse meat, raw dog meat-”

Harry looked down at the plate of treacle tarts he’d pilfered for himself. Would he have to go without these for months?

“Raw fish dishes are called sashimi!” Hermione wagged her finger, “I heard they’re usually prepared by chef who have trained for years, so they are safe.”

Seamus made a face, and Dean and Neville didn’t look convinced either.

Ron would have grimaced too, Harry realised with a pang.

“Come on,” Hermione scowled, but her eyes were filled with delight. “You’re Gryffindors, aren’t you? Where’s your courage? Your spirit of adventure?”

“That is that, this is this!” Seamus retorted, and they all laughed.

Harry peered at Hermione’s easy smile. _How could she seem so comfortable? Doesn’t she miss Ron too?_

“Harry?” the witch caught his stare.

The bespectacled boy shook his head. “I prefer them fried, too,” he chimed as he piled fish and chips onto his plate.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Boys.”

* * *

“Hello, Harry.”

Harry grinned at the blonde who had sidled up to him. “Luna.”

A tiny frown appeared on her face. “You’ve let the korekore clouds hang all over you, Harry. It’s making you sick.”

“Really?” As he turned to the Ravenclaw, he saw a glimpse of the red hair of the girl walking on the other side of Luna. Blue eyes met his briefly before Ginny gave a curt nod, and looked away quickly.

Harry sighed inwardly. Their relationship had been tense since the bespectacled boy’s birthday, when Ginny had offered herself to Harry – organising a night out without Molly Weasley knowing was no mean feat – and Harry _panicked_ instead of rejoicing that all his wet dreams were coming true. (Come to think of it, he didn’t have wet dreams of her. He didn’t have wet dreams, period. His subconscious was, unfortunately, filled with nightmares still.) Since then, they had barely talked.

Ron had, with flaming cheeks, told Harry that Harry had his blessing to ‘move his relationship with Ginny forward’, before fleeing the Burrow with the excuse of helping George in the shop.

Hermione merely studied him with her penetrating gaze, as always, before speaking, in a small voice, after they were safely _alone_ (or, as alone as they could be, in the Burrow) behind the closed door of Ron’s room.

_“May be you’re not that into her,” she shrugged._

_At first, Harry was irritated. “What do you mean? I love her-”_

_“I’m sure you do,” Hermione added quickly. “But you need to consider that may be…may be. You are not sexually attracted to her.”_

_Harry felt his face heating up. Without looking at a mirror, he knew it was red as tomatoes. “I-I,” he spluttered._

_“You don’t have to figure it out now, Harry,” Hermione gave the back of his hand a pat._

Harry turned to his right, where the brunette was still excitedly babbling to an obliging Neville all she’d managed to cram into her brains on the Japanese wizarding community (except the Toyohashi Tengu, the only thing Harry knew about Japan).

“I wonder if they use wands? Their branch of magic rely much more heavily on channeling the powers of familiars and spirits-”

She caught Harry looking at her, and reached for his hand to give it a squeeze.

“Do you know, that out of all the wizarding communities all over the world, the Japanese community has the most harmonious relationship with the Muggles? This experience will help us learn something, don’t you think?” She smiled encouragingly.

Harry did not bother to correct her assumption of his need for reassurance. “Yeah, it will.”

The group of people who had been making their way to the gate with the two winged boars, stopped moving.

A huge door, almost as big as the door leading to the Entrance Hall, had been installed next to the gate. It was made of stone instead of wood, and instead of the emblems of the four houses carved onto the surface, it was filled by runes and what Harry assumed to be the Japanese writing system, along with images of waves, the sun, clouds and a castle with curling roofs, a snake with a dragon’s head hovering protectively around it.

McGonagall cleared her throat. “I need to…pre-empt you that our counterparts are exceedingly polite, and it is in their culture to never show outright rejection and contempt. You are all old enough to be considered adults, and we are already imposing on them. I do NOT want to hear any news of you causing trouble, am I clear?”

A series of “Yes, Headmistress,” or “Yes, Professor,” were murmured by the teens.

Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes, but nodded, temporarily satisfied. She placed her hand on the doorknob. “Enter the door individually. Before you pass through the threshold, you have to touch the frame, and channel a bit of your magic into it.”

Harry couldn’t see anything beyond the door as it was opened – just mist – and McGonagall disappeared through it the moment she stepped through. A part of Harry’s mind was frozen in fear by how much the door reminded him of _the Veil_ , which had robbed Sirius away from him.

“Harry?” Hermione touched his arm, snapping Harry off from the memory of his Godfather falling through the curtain, never to come back, repeating like in a loop. He looked around, and realised that he was nearly alone. His other schoolmates had passed through. Luna was waiting ahead of them, and Malfoy was standing by the door, one hand on the frame. Harry noted an odd set of tension in his back, before he too, disappeared in the mist.

Harry shook his head. He pointed at the door. “Let’s go.”

Stepping through the threshold felt very much like the familiar sensation of being forced through a very tight rubber tube. Harry landed shakily on his feet on the other side, his face slightly green with nausea.

But the dizziness quickly disappeared due to the sight that greeted him: a majestic Castle at the top of a mountain, illuminated by golden rays of a sun barely risen from the horizon, shining on red pillars and green mutton-fat jade of the roof. The same curling roof which were etched on the stone door. The sky was a myriad of purple and dark orange, clouds lined in yellow edges so bright Harry had to look away.

A group of people were standing in front of the Castle, the gold of some of their robes reflecting the sunlight. A woman stood in front of them, dark hair coiffed in a bun at her nape, her robe seemingly the most golden of them all, the layers of the oriental dress beneath them a muted black. What seemed like white foxes with red-tipped tails were embroidered on the hems. She bowed deeply from the waist, and the entire congregation behind her followed, like a perfectly choreographed performance.

“Minerva,” her eyes, dark as Cho’s, twinkled when they fell upon the Headmistress of Hogwarts. “It’s been a while since I last saw you. The International Educators Conference…eight years ago, I believe? Before that nasty rumour of a monster petrifying students nearly closed your school down. I hope you’re well,” her smile looked more intimate than courteous. “Congratulations once again for your promotion.” Her English was slightly accented. The lack of sensation of magic told Harry no translation spell was being used.

“Yura,” The ex-Transfiguration Profession sighed. Some of the weariness left her expression. “I can’t possibly express how much I thank you for the assistance.”

“Our School has the space. The declining birth rate in Japan has lowered intake drastically, unfortunately.” The woman who must be the Headmistress of Mahoutokoro, despite how _young_ she looked, gave a dismissive gesture. “Ilvermorny would have been more ideal; they also have four houses, and less cultural distance.”

Something crossed McGonagall’s face. Something not entirely pleasant. “Well, you were the one who offered.”

A beat passed in silence. “That, I did,” the Japanese witch agreed, and ended the topic. “Would you like to take a rest? Breakfast will be served soon.”

“I just had dinner a couple of hours ago,” McGonagall declined. She gestured at the Hogwarts students. “They’re yours.”

“Right,” the Japanese witch turned to address them. “Welcome to Mahoutokoro School of Magic. I am Shiroharu Yura, the Headmistress of this School. You may call me Professor Shiroharu, Shiroharu-kyoju, or Shiroharu-sensei. We are very pleased to have you here.”

Two students, a pretty girl with long black hair and lovely fair skin and a lean, slightly tanned boy with wild dark brown hair stepped up to her. “These are my Head Girl and my Head Boy, Miss Daidouji Tomoyo, and Mr-”

“ _Xiao Long_ ,” the brown-haired boy interrupted her with a whisper, his brown eyes widening until a ring of white could be seen around his irises. A few Mahoutokoro students shot him disbelieving dark looks – it seemed they truly upheld politeness in high regards – but the Head Boy didn’t seem to notice. No, he only had eyes for-

“Little Wolf,” Malfoy replied the boy, his face less shocked than the Asian boy’s but grimmer, his grey eyes haunted.

“…Li Syaoran,” Shiroharu finished, as the Head Boy crossed the distance between the two student bodies like he had fire on his heels and threw his arms around Malfoy. “Well, I’m glad some of you know each other already.”

Harry blinked profusely.

_What did just happen?_

* * *

_From the time when Draco Malfoy could talk, it was made clear to him that he was triply special: firstly as a wizard, secondly as a pure-blood, and thirdly as a member of the Malfoy family. [1]_

_Likewise, from the time when Li Syaoran could talk, it was made clear to him that he too was triply special: firstly as a son (a long-awaited one, after four daughters), secondly as magically gifted (not like his numerous Squib cousins, no), and thirdly as a member of the Most Noble, Ancient and Prestigious Li Clan, who could trace their roots of powerful wizards and witches as far back as a thousand years ago._

_It was no wonder that when Draco Malfoy and Li Syaoran first met each other, they did not get along. Sorry, that was an understatement; the first time they met, they had a spectacular row._

_“It’s not Dlaco!” the blonde boy screamed. “Don’t butcher my name! And your accent is weird!”_

_“And it’s not Shaolin!” the Hongkonger yelled back, “That’s a Buddhist Monastery in China! And at least I’m making an effort to speak your language! You try speaking Cantonese and I’ll eat my sword if you don’t have a strange accent too!”_

_Draco fumed. “You try speaking French!”_

_Syaoran crossed his arms on his chest. “Why should I!?”_

_Narcissa frowned at the commotion, leaning forward as though she wanted to interfere, but Lucius stopped her. “Let it be.”_

_“But…”_

_“Boys will be boys,” Li Yelan, the Head of the Li Clan after her husband passed away, commented absently as she blew on her tea._

_As though fulfilling her premonition, Draco suddenly leaned closer in interest. “You have a sword?”_

_Syaoran’s indignant expression deflated quickly like a leaking balloon. “Of course I do,” he said as he blinked._

_Draco thrust his hand under his companion’s nose. “Show me!” he commanded._

_“No!” Syaoran barked. “It’s dangerous,” he added more calmly, peering at his mother at the same time. He was relieved when the Li Clan matriarch nodded approvingly._

_Draco stomped his foot, his face turning red in anger. “You’re a liar! Shaolin is a liar!”_

_The Hongkonger could feel his blood pulsing in his temple. “For the last time, it’s not Shaolin!”_

_“Young masters, if I may suggest,” the Li Clan’s trusted butler, butted in with a peaceful smile on his wizened old face. “Syaoran means ‘little wolf’, so perhaps Master Draco may call Master Syaoran ‘Little Wolf’. And I believe Draco means ‘dragon’, so Master Syaoran may call Master Draco ‘Xiao Long’, which means little dragon.”_

_Draco scowled in silent thought. He turned to Li Yelan. “Is that correct, Madam Li? It is not actually a derogatory term, and he’s not lying to me, right?”_

_Li Yelan raised one finely sculpted brow. “He has a rich vocabulary, isn’t he?” Lucius smirked proudly at the insinuated compliment. “Yes, young dragon, Xiao means little and Long means dragon,” she answered the blonde boy as she passed him an almond biscuit._

_Draco relished biting into his treat, and shot his younger companion a measuring look. “Ok, then, Little Wolf,” he offered his hand again._

_Syaoran stared at it for a second, before exhaling his frustrations away. “I agree to starting over, Xiao Long.”_

* * *

Draco chuckled inwardly at the memory. The bickering didn’t end right away, but he did appreciate Little Wolf’s visits over time. Little Wolf was more intelligent than Vincent. Pansy simpered annoyingly over him, Theo preferred to read books indoors and Blaise proclaimed horse-riding or fencing too strenuous and beneath him. Little Wolf was adventurous and fun and they could teach each other things.

“I’m glad to see you alive,” Little Wolf’s voice brought Draco back to the present. Concerned, warm amber eyes kept gazing at him, as though he would disappear the moment Little Wolf took his eyes off Draco. “I haven’t heard from you since four years ago, when you wrote about the triwizard tournament. I was so worried when I heard there was a war in Britain.”

Draco nodded stiffly. “Yes, miraculously, I survived.”

A callous hand wrapped around his and squeezed reassuringly, the bumps on his palm a reminder to Draco of how seriously Little Wolf practiced sword-fighting. “How are your Mother and Father?” Little Wolf’s voice was hesitant.

Draco recalled with startling clarity, a conversation between Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy he’d stumbled upon over a decade ago.

 _“Hong Kong is too far,” the bicolour-haired woman frowned._ [2]

_“It is better than Scandinavia or Russia, surely. You enjoyed the weather better when we visited Hong Kong, didn’t you?” Lucius cajoled._

_The lines on his wife’s face only deepened. “Why can’t you just choose from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families? I heard the second Greengrass daughter is not claimed yet. Mrs Parkinson certainly has mentioned the possible union between her daughter and Draco many times.” Her blue eyes turned icy. “Don’t tell me it’s the money.”_

_“The money isn’t everything,” Lucius wasn’t a fool. “It’s better to hedge our bets and not put all our eggs in the same basket. Have an option to take roots overseas, if things turn sour in Britain. I only trust pureblooded families in the Continent as far as I can throw them, but Hong Kong is a tax haven_ [3] _and Yelan is trustworthy. Don’t you agree?”_

_And Narcissa did get along with Yelan. Better than she did with Mrs Nott and Mrs Parkinson._

_Lucius placed one hand on her hair and carded his fingers through her blonde locks. She knew how much the change in her hair colour had pleased him. “This is just a back-up plan. If nothing happens, we’ll choose the second Greengrass girl, all right?”_

“Xiao Long?” Draco looked up to see fear in Little Wolf’s eyes. “Is Mr and Mrs Malfoy…”

“They are alive and healthy,” the blonde quickly put an end to the brunet’s speculations.

“I’m glad,” the relief in Little Wolf’s voice sounded genuine.

Draco felt queasy. He truly had no idea if his Father was going to kill him for this, but… the blonde took a deep breath. “Listen,” he needed to know. “The status of my family is no longer what it used to be, before the war. I don’t think my Father will begrudge your Mother if…” His Father likely would, but he might have preferred withdrawing on his own terms.

Little Wolf only shook his head at Draco, his gaze turning…affectionate. “My Mother didn’t choose you for that.”

“Oh,” Draco could only respond with. He was strangely breathless.

“Yes,” Little Wolf echoed.

They sat in silence in a little alcove in the library, where a sofa and a wooden table for two had been set up. Draco took in the scent of ink and old parchments, the sight of scrolls tightly stacked together, before Little Wolf pulled him out of his musing. “You know, I’m sure by now you should be able to pronounce my name correctly,” he sounded amused.

“And you, my name,” Draco countered easily, tilting his head to peer at the other teenage boy, whom he’d last seen the summer before he started Hogwarts. Little Wolf had grown up to a…fit young man, filling his high-collared black button-down uniform nicely as far as Draco could see. Not surprising, based on the hours Little Wolf must have spent on martial arts.

By contrast, Draco himself had lost so much weight over the past two years his wrists were basically skin stretched over bones.

Still, heartened by their apparently enduring betrothal, Draco ploughed on. “I kind of like that I have this nickname for you,” he spoke, his voice coming out softer than he expected.

Syaoran’s smile widened. “Me too,” his callous hand gave another squeeze. “Just drop the ‘little’, may be. We’re not so little anymore… Dragon.”

Draco closed his eyes. If only, he could return to those carefree summers. “Yes, Wolf.”

* * *

Harry squinted at the blonde who was currently sitting so closely to Mahoutokoro’s Head Boy they were almost in each other’s lap.

It was…a shocking sight.

The wizarding world has always struck Harry as conservative. The fact that ‘proper’ wizards dressed like they were in 1920s and Harry rarely heard news about other wizarding communities helped. Before Harry left the Dursleys, he remembered muggle TV had begun covering globalisation more frequently. He also remembered Dudley buying a ‘laptop’ and chatting with people from the other side of the globe using the ‘internet’. By necessity and their secretive nature, wizarding communities tended to be isolationists; ideas did not travel across communities that well. Why, no other communities had interfered in Britain’s second wizarding war, despite the fact that muggle USA was known for foreign interventions.

Hence, Harry had rather assumed that the wizarding world’s attitude toward homosexuality would be that of, well, bigotry. And worse than Muggle’s.

After all, every wizarding child was precious, and same-sex relationships couldn’t result in children.

Could they?

“Harry,” someone tugged at his sleeve.

Harry turned to find Hermione with her brows furrowed, and the Mahoutokoro’s Head Girl, her face arranged into a bland mask of politeness. “Did you take a wrong turn after coming back from the restroom?” her dark eyes twinkled mutely in amusement.

Harry fought the blush that was threatening to invade his cheeks at being caught trying to eavesdrop. “Yes, I must have,” he mumbled.

The Head Girl nodded. “Let us proceed to the dormitories, then.”

After the interrupted introduction, and Shiroharu explaining that Hogwarts students could spend their first day unpacking and dealing with the 9 hours they had lost due to time difference, Mahoutokoro’s Head Boy had promptly whisked Malfoy away, leaving the Head Girl and the Prefects to guide the Hogwarts students. The Prefects had seemed surprised, but the Head Girl only nodded, a look of understanding dawning on her face. Like everything had finally fallen into place.

Not wanting to be left out (and not having a Marauders’ Map for this Castle), Harry tried to excuse himself to the toilet and follow them. Until he was caught.

Students were streaming past them in the opposite direction as they walked through the hallways, chattering to each other in excitement for the day or groaning over homework or tests. Since the air was abuzz with magic, Harry assumed there was translation spell weaved into the wards. The boys were wearing a high-collared black uniform with gold brass buttons and long black trousers, while the girls, including the Head Girl, were wearing navy pleated skirts and shirts with sailor-style navy collars which had two white stripes and red neckerchiefs. The younger girls wore white shirts, while older girls’ shirts were the same dark navy blue as their collars. Most of them also wore robes which had baggy sleeves, the younger students’ robes mostly faint pink, and older ones in various shades of peach, salmon, and gradually, pale yellow, and some gold.

Hermione observed her surroundings with keen interest. “Miss Daidouji?”

“Yes, Miss Granger?” The Head Girl replied. Her voice was really mellow and pleasant.

“What does the colour of the robes signify? And…” she hesitated a little, “if I may ask, why you are not wearing one?”

“We are presented with enchanted robes upon enrollment. The robes will change in size according to the wearer and change colour as the learning of the wearer increases, beginning a faint pink colour and becoming gold if top grades are achieved in every magical subject,” [4] the Head Girl elaborated patiently.

“Oh, that’s interesting!” Hermione remarked, a hundred questions bubbling in her mind.

“And the reason I’m not wearing one is…” Daidouji tilted her head, her amicable mien unperturbed, “I can be considered what you call…ah, a Squib.”

Harry could pinpoint the moment those questions scattered to nothing in his best friend’s mouth.

His mind blanked out at pretty much the same time.

TBC

Comment please!

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. From Pottermore: https://www.pottermore.com/writing-by-jk-rowling/draco-malfoy  
> 2\. I know the book described Narcissa Malfoy as blonde and it’s the movie’s production team’s decision to give Narcissa Malfoy black hair with blonde locks because they interpreted that Narcissa originally has the Black family’s dark hair (resemblance with Bellatrix) but when she married into the Malfoy family, magic gradually gave her blonde locks. https://www.pottermore.com/features/behind-the-scenes-lucius-and-narcissa-malfoy  
> I kind of like this interpretation, because genetically, if you have two dark-haired parents, the only way a blonde could come up is if both dark-haired parents have recessive blonde hair genes. Not unlikely, of course, but Narcissa has always been proudly pureblood, and I thought she might not have been if she was the only blonde in a family of brunettes and this made others question if Druella cheated and Narcissa’s father wasn’t Cygnus. Anyways, I find Narcissa’s hair in the movies aesthetically pleasing.  
> 3\. I subscribe to the fanon that the Malfoys dabbled in Muggle assets :p  
> 4\. From: https://www.pottermore.com/writing-by-jk-rowling/mahoutokoro


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